


Watch the Summer Stars to Lead Me Home

by Moonlark



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Multi, Shipwreck, Survival, tropical island
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A combination of several prompts:</p><p>1) Jason/Josh, tropical vacations and sunshine<br/>2) Gracie Gold, shipwrecked<br/>3) Any character and/or pairing, how many figure skaters can you fit on an island?</p><p>Lesson learned. DO NOT introduce your friends to something if they know you will write fic about it UNLESS you want to be flooded by a barrage of prompts months later. </p><p>Title from Owl City's Silhouette. All chapter titles will be from Owl City songs. I just feel like that's a good idea right now. I may change my mind. "It seemed like a good idea at the time..."</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Wide Windy Waves Washed in

**Author's Note:**

> A combination of several prompts:
> 
> 1) Jason/Josh, tropical vacations and sunshine  
> 2) Gracie Gold, shipwrecked  
> 3) Any character and/or pairing, how many figure skaters can you fit on an island?
> 
> Lesson learned. DO NOT introduce your friends to something if they know you will write fic about it UNLESS you want to be flooded by a barrage of prompts months later. 
> 
> Title from Owl City's Silhouette. All chapter titles will be from Owl City songs. I just feel like that's a good idea right now. I may change my mind. "It seemed like a good idea at the time..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero awakens on a lonely beach with a sunburn and no idea where he is.

The high noon sun shone down on Jason Brown.

A salty breeze gusted across the beach, stirring up small puffs of white sand in clouds and cloisters. Yards away, the sea foamed lightly at the mouth, spitting flecks of surf and seaweed onto the damp ground. Palm trees swayed gently, rustling together in close contact, leafy handshakes and green-dyed fingers painting the sky. A seagull wheeled high above the shore, a small tuft of life against a cerulean canvas, white and gray feathers adjusting its position minutely as it scanned the seemingly empty sands for any prey. 

The high noon sun shone down on Jason Brown.

The nineteen-year-old lay on his side in the sand, brown hair pooling below his head as it spilled out of the ponytail. His clothes were ripped and torn, slashed by the wrath of a thousand ocean monsters and stained by the disdain of a hundred gulls and gannets. There was seaweed wrapped around his arms, and a sunburn was beginning to develop on the skin bared to the elements. Nicks and scratches showed on the bare legs below his tattered shorts, and a small piece of rope was tied around his wrist, the other end attached to a large chunk of driftwood. He was sleeping.

The high noon sun shone down on Jason Brown.

The seagull that had been previously soaring high above presently spotted the boy's still body below. Somewhere in its small brain, gears began turning, synapses fired, and an idea commenced to form. Led by ancient instincts, the bird hovered lower, and then dropped again, beady eyes focusing on the unmoving piece of potential food below. It landed carefully on the sand by the human's head, and peered, intrigued, at the strange creature that had invaded its quiet home. It wasn't moving, the gull reasoned, so it could be dead, and if it were dead, it could be the bird's food source for days to come. 

The high noon sun shone down on Jason Brown.

Slowly, tentatively, the gull reached out with its beak, and then delivered a soft tap right between his shoulder blades. It leaped back immediately, waiting for a sign of movement, but the human only shifted slightly before stilling once more. Emboldened by the apparent lack of vitality, the gull took three small steps closer, paused to consider once more, and then inflicted a hard, sharp, painful peck tho the soft skin of his side.

Jason bolted awake, yelping, nearly leaping into the air and scrambling away as fast as he could. The gull screeched in surprise and took to the wing; apparently the creature wasn't food after all. 

Swearing under his breath, Jason stumbled to the sea's edge and splashed some water on his side. It smarted, but the stab-like wound, luckily shallow, was soon cleaned and he could worry about other things.

Rubbing sand from his eyes, he mentally catalogued the various discrepancies of his appearance. The clothes were ones he'd owned, but how they'd reached this tattered state he had no idea. The last thing he could remember was falling asleep in his own bed...

He looked around and took stock of the empty beach, the vast ocean, and the palm trees nearby. This didn't look like his bedroom, and the pain from the gull's beak was real enough that he knew he wasn't dreaming. But that left him to wonder, _how did I get here?... and w_ _here am I?_

"Hello?" he called out, but there was no one around to hear him, no one but the sand and the sea and the palms and the gulls and the sky overhead. He yelled again and again, until his voice was hoarse, but there was no reply. 

The high noon sun looked on silently, unmoved, and continued to shine down on the confused, scared, lost, lonely Jason Brown.


	2. Feeling Warm in Your Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero takes stock of his situation.

The beach slowly gave way to a series of rocky outcroppings that rose high into the air above the beach and palm trees. The rocks were dark, somewhat porous, and jagged. Yet they seemed to be the highest point along the shore, so, Jason reasoned, it made sense to climb up and take a look around. He toed off his waterlogged, nearly destroyed shoes, wiped his feet in the sweet-smelling sun-dried grass at the base of the rocks, and began to climb.

By the time he made it to the top, he was sweating under the hot sun and the light reflected off the nearby water, and his hands and feet were nearly rubbed raw. He slumped down against the topmost boulder, resting his aching feet and simply letting the sun wash over him. He felt exhausted, and suddenly became aware of the fact that he was very thirsty. 

He stood up, swaying slightly as he used the rock for support. The glare from the water nearly blinded him, and he squinted, and then groaned.

He was on a island. 

How cliche was that?

Jason shook his head as he turned in a circle, getting a full view of his predicament. The rock mound he was on seemed to be the high point on the isle, though there was a hillock to the approximate northwest (he was judging direction by the afternoon sun). The ocean spread out around the small (but not tiny) island, and he could just barely make out the western edge. He was at the eastern tip.

He sighed and decided that he had enough of a general idea of his surroundings; further exploration could wait until he had dealt with the more urgent problem of his growing thirst.

He scrambled down the rocks, slipping once and bruising his shin, and made it back to the ground with only slightly cracked and bleeding hands and feet. His palms stung as sweat dripped across them, and he wiped the faint streaks of blood on his shirt and the grass below him. He tried toeing his shoes back on, but they disintegrated the moment he put his feet in them, and he couldn't help feeling slightly cheated.

 _Think positive,_ he told himself. _If you let yourself despair, you're not gonna have a chance._

By this time, the ache of thirst in his parched throat had become undeniable. He cast a longing glance toward the ocean, but knew that saltwater wouldn't help his thirst; if anything, it would make it worse. So, with one last squint in the general vicinity of the sun, he turned his back to the sea and set off under the cool shade of the palm trees.


	3. I Sail Above Your Inlets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which water becomes our hero's priority.

When Jason left the beach for the shade of the trees, he noticed an instantaneous shift in atmosphere. The air continued to have the same humid tang as before, but the sun's rays no longer beat directly down on him. The rustling of the palms was gentle, soothing, and as he got further away from the beach, the harsh gulls' cries faded into sweet songbirds' warbles. Somewhere off to the left, a monkey of some kind hooted, answered by a whole troop.

 _Well, at least I know there's food,_ Jason thought, _if I can catch it._

Something about that thought made him feel slightly queasy. He was okay with eating meat, normally, but he didn't like staring his meal in the face while it was still alive. Maybe he'd just stick to plants. They didn't run away while you were collecting them.

But he had other things (fresh water) to worry about right now. 

After some time, Jason became aware of the fact that the ground was sloping slightly upward. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if climbing the small hill he'd seen from the rocks would be a good idea. But since water flowed downhill, he decided it would probably make sense to start from the top of the hill and work his way downward. 

There was nothing on the upper half of the hill. The thirst was actually painful and had been for a while; he tried swallowing, but that did nothing to assuage the ache of his throat. He could no longer muster any saliva, there was a steady throbbing behind his temples, and his movements were starting to become delayed. 

The sun was now beginning to set, casting streams and trickles of liquid gold through the green lattice frame of leaves in a beautiful panorama of shade and shine, but Jason was in no state to appreciate it. The headache was now accompanied by disorienting bouts of dizziness, and he was somewhat certain he was walking in circles; he had a feeling he'd searched this spot already.

Suddenly, something shifted under his foot and slid sideways, sending him to the ground in a swift, hard fall, knocking all the breath from him. He lay there, dazed, making no effort to get up. It would be so easy to just stay on the ground and let the night wash over him, to succumb to the thirst and the wild and the creeping blackness behind his eyes...

But no. He couldn't do that, couldn't give up so easily. Quiet images flashed in front of him, his family, his friends, his fellow skaters, the adoring (and the not-so-adoring) fans, his sweet Chicago, everything he'd worked for and this whole beautiful world he wasn't ready to leave yet. Even his medal made a brief appearance, and for some strange reason, an analog clock, and that one just confused him. What was so special about an analog clock? Why would it appear now? Then it slowly began to melt, and he thought, _Dali? But why?_

It suddenly came to him that he was probably hallucinating, but that was no reason to lie down and let dry death steal over them. Tapping into a great reservoir that had previously gone unnoticed, he somehow found the strength to clamber to his knees, swaying as dizziness threatened to swamp him. He had somehow got turned around, so he was staring blankly at the object that had tripped him: a brown, misshapen, cracked, rotting coconut.

Huh. A coconut. 

What was so special about that? Coconuts were edible, yeah, but you couldn't drink them... well, you could drink the milk... wait.

He looked up. Sure enough, overhead in the trees, there were several coconuts. 

Somehow, he made it to his feet and stumbled over to one of the trees. Placing both hands against it, he began shaking with all his might, and then had to leap sideways to avoid being brained by a falling coconut. 

Later, sitting with his back against the tree, holding the coconut and feeling somewhat better, Jason began to laugh. He looked at the approximate sphere in his hands, aware that he was grinning foolishly, and whispered "Thank you," because his life had been saved by a coconut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TALKING TO INANIMATE OBJECTS IS NEVER A GOOD SIGN, JASON. DON'T LOSE IT.


	4. Chasing Rainbows On My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero establishes a life on the island.

Jason had been nearly three weeks on the island before he finally felt secure enough to lay aside a constant vigilance, pause in the search for food, and begin to seek a way off the island. He was noticeably skinnier, and a bit hungry all the time, as he didn't want to use up his food supply too quickly, but he still felt fine. The tropical sun and salty sea air had tanned and weathered his skin, and the tattered shirt had been discarded (the shorts had stayed, though). His hands and feet had grown calloused from periodic scrambling over the rocks scattered across the island, his ponytail tied with a short length of vine, and despite the various scratches and scars, was healthy and fit, thriving on the warm island. 

However, while the island was warm, it was also a lonely island, and Jason could feel the solitude getting to him. He had taken to keeping a diary of sorts, scratching crude pictures on the coconut shells with chunks of rock, in a valiant attempt to preserve his sanity. Words were hard to form, so he had resorted to using pictograms, namely stick figures. Still, he grew bored regularly, and found it increasingly hard to smile in the face of his predicament. 

Three weeks in, he had discovered a small bay where fish teemed under the water, and he'd fashioned a crude net and spear system to catch the scaled water-dwellers. It was surprisingly easy, the hard part coming when he had to clean the fish—ugh—but it was a reliable food source, and between that and the coconuts he fed himself. He had also figured out how to distill the sea-water so that he could drink actual water instead of coconut milk, and with that, a fire, and a woven vine hammock, had what he needed to stay alive.

The problem is, though, that he wasn't really living... he was only surviving, and there was a difference. There was no real purpose on the island, and he found himself often staring off into the wide sky that surrounded his home, searching for any sign of life. For all he knew, a third world war could've erupted, and he could be the only human left alive...

And yeah, this was playing tricks on his mind. That was why he needed to get off the island before he completely lost it.

So he began to work. Cutting down trees was hard, sweaty labor, not to mention deforestation, but he eventually felled one with the stone ax he was using. Then he moved on to the next tree, because he couldn't make a canoe from a palm tree, so he'd have to make a raft.

Tree by tree he went, until he had eight, side by side, in the shape of a platform. He cut off the tops to make it rectangular, lashed it together with vine, stocked it with supplies, and set sail on his 39th day on the island. 

It was a fine dawn, red and golden, and Jason couldn't help but feel hopeful. He smiled at the sunrise, said goodbye to the shore as he pushed away, raised his sail, and joked aloud to no one at all. The joy of leaving crystallized over his skin, and for the first time in over a month, the old, cheery Jason was back.

He was heading home—not to the temporary home of the island, but to his real home.

The day passed, and his tan deepened as he carefully kept the raft on its course, due east. The sun set slowly, and Jason could feel it warming his back before it slowly slipped beneath the waves. He was hungry, so he ate some of his dried fish, washing it down with water. He then lashed the sail in place and attempted to get some sleep.

In the middle of the night, the sea changed from the calm surface he'd been sailing on to a rough, roiling tumult. He was woken from his slumber by a wave washing over the raft, drenching him and contaminating his water supply. Rain lashed down, and the small raft was tossed about, heaved to and fro by the raging, ravenous ocean. Jason clung to the mast for dear life, digging his fingers into the waterlogged wood and watching in despair as the coconuts and the fish were washed away. Thunder roared, and lightning scorched the heavens like the fires of an avenging angel. 

Suddenly, a huge wave swelled behind him and crashed down on the raft, flipping the small wood platform and spilling Jason into the water. He flailed, panicked, and just barely managed to grasp the edge of the raft before he was dragged under. He surfaced again, spitting water and just barely still holding on to the raft, which had flipped again. With the last of his strength, he dragged himself from the water to collapse, soaked and shivering, on the sea-warped wood. The storm-tossed seas raged around him, trying with all their might to take him down into the deeps. 

A flash of lightning speared downward, striking the raft dead center. There was an ominous creaking sound, and the mast began to tilt.

The last thing he remembered before everything went black was a loud crack and a burst of pain in the back of his skull. 


	5. It's a Bitter World and I'd Rather Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero dreams and floats.

What peculiar visions visited Jason as he floated in a thirst- and injury-driven delirium, he could not describe in their entirety, for many were fleeting and of little consequence, blurred mirages on the wrong side of a shadowed canvas. In fact, there were only two that he could later recount, one nightmarish, one bizarre, but both disturbingly clear, as if they were real.

As the sun slowly circled from east to west, traversing the wide heavens above, he lay on the rough raft and dreamed.

—

_The night was cool, calm, a perfect night for jogging._

_"Stay on the route?" Josh asked; in reality, it was more of a command._

_"I'll be fine," Jason replied. "And yes, I'll stay on the route." **I don't want to get lost,** he thought.  **I don't like running in unfamiliar places at night either.** He needed this, though. Otherwise, he'd never be able to get to sleep._

_He finished tying his shoes and gave Josh a quick hug and a kiss. It really was nice to be able to tell someone.  No one else understood the late-night jogs, or even the insomnia. Honestly, before this, he'd tried everything—drugs, therapy, hypnosis, those weird noise machines, even  caffeine (in the hope that at least if he couldn't sleep, at least he wouldn't be dead tired during the day. He only ended up with a coffee addiction that it took months to fully break). The only thing that helped, though, was to tire his body out so fully that he was nearly asleep on his feet. That meant running, long jogs on normal nights, shorter ones when he'd just skated, but running nonetheless._

_He took a quick sip of water, and then walked out the door. " Bye!" Josh called out, and Jason waved back, yelling "See you later!" into the crisp air. Then everything was quiet, and he was heading out for a run, route memorized and landmarks in the front of his brain._

_Little did he know that the goodbye at the door was the last time he'd see Josh for months._

_He relaxed, focused on breathing in and out, in and out, lulled into a trancelike state by the repetitive sound of his feet against the pavement, and then the gravel. The moonlight washed over him, soaking through his skin, and a gentle breeze whisked the sweat away and dried his clothes on him. He felt like he could go forever, just leap off the earth into the sky and soar._

_Exactly halfway through, in the middle of a park, he slowed to a walk and then eventually stopped, placed his hands on his knees, and panted. Sweat-palmed hands fumbled a water bottle out of a pocket, and he took a gulp, swallowed, and then splashed some on his face. Then he looked up—and gasped._

_There, on the trail in front of him, was a man holding a gun. He looked at Jason and slowly, confidently, grinned a terrifying wolfish grin._

_Jason whirled, terror spurring him on, forgetting his fatigue as he darted back the way he came. **CRACK! CRACK!** came the noises of two shots behind him, and he gasped as something—a bullet, he realized—whistled past his head. The second one whined off into the trees, and he slipped, recovered, and took a sharp turn onto a larger trail, speeding toward the park gates. Almost there, he thought, just get back under the streetlights—_

_**UUUUUUUNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHH!** _

_Pain exploded in the back of his leg and he missed a stride, stumbled, and fell hard, gravel stinging his skin. He could feel a wetness spreading across his left calf, corresponding with the pain perfectly. He tried to scramble upright, to get moving again, but the moment he tried to put weight on his leg, agony shot through him and he collapsed on the ground again, whimpering through gritted teeth. Behind him, he could hear the man approaching, and his imagination ran wild thinking of what the midnight gun-toter might want. **  
**_

_**If he wants money, he can have it,** he thought through a pain-red haze. **But if he only wants money, why shoot?... Because I was running away. If I hadn't run, maybe he wouldn't've shot... But if he wants more than money... Oh god, I hope he only wants money...**_

_The crunch of gravel was as loud as thunder as the man knelt down next to him. He gulped as something cold and metallic pressed against the back of his neck. It didn't take a genius to realize that that was the gun._

_"Poor little thing," said the man, "so scared. Why don't you give someone a call, tell them what's going on? Go on," he smirked when Jason hesitated, "it won't help none, but it can't hurt, either. Maybe you'll feel a bit better."_

_Jason stared at those cold, strange eyes and then, certain he was going to get his head blown off any moment, reached into his pocket and carefully drew out his phone, trying and failing not to jostle his injured leg. Before he cold do anything, though, the man whispered in his ear, "And don't waste your one call on 911. They can't—won't—help you. Call someone who cares."_

_Somehow, those words scared him more than the cold metal at the back of his neck._

_His hands shook uncontrollably as he held the phone to his ear and hoped silently for things he dared not think. When the other end picked up and Josh's voice came over the line, he couldn't hold back any longer, gasping and sobbing, hoping he was coherent enough that Josh actually understood some of it. Before he could finish, though, the man knocked the phone away and snatched it up, growling into it, "No point in looking for him. You'll only find a body."_

_Then he hurled the phone at the ground, and Jason had no choice but to lie there and watch as his only hope shattered on the gravel._

—

The dream vanished, and his body was catapulted into the conscious world, but his mind did not follow. There were a few brief moments where he was more awake than asleep, where he almost knew what was going on and where he was, where he nearly recognized the raft and the ocean... but those moments passed, and he slipped into the realm of dreams once more.

—

_He was still running, but this time, the air around him was wild, and he was free, free from the tangling restraints of the human world. He skimmed across the grass, effortless, swift, all four legs pounding in time. Above him, the moon shone down, bright and smooth and all importantly, free, free to sail across the sky without care for the whims and wishes of the men far below. But he was no longer a man, he was one with the moon, wild and free, sailing on toward the horizon where others waited. And as he ran, he seemed to float, to extend until there was nothing but earth and sky, and he was earth and he was sky._

_Then the others appeared beside him, tongues wagging and eyes bright, an ocean of furry mischief flowing with him. The pack ran on, running for the thrill of it, no hunt or fight at the end. And he was one with them, for he was the wild, wild wolf, and they were his brothers, his pack, and he greeted them as he should.  
_

_On he ran, with the night and the wind, until the moon reached its zenith and primal howls of the highest order—music of the night—rose to meet it._

—

Then the raft's bottom was grating against damp sand, and the delirium faded, just long enough for him to drag himself off the sand, over sea blown salt grass, to the stream that bisected this unfamiliar terrain. He face-planted in the shallow water, gulped some down (not caring about any diseases or whatsoever in his weakened state), and then collapsed sideways in the grass, passing out once more.

Finding out where he was, looking of food, getting back to civilization... those things could wait. For now, he just wanted to sleep.

Had he been awake, he would have been relieved to know that his slumbers were dreamless. Had he been awake, however, he would have had other things to focus on. But he was not awake, and the shadow that fell across him went unnoticed. 

The sun set, and the coal-black muzzle, delicate, young, and inquisitive, that nosed at his hair decided that it was inedible, and moved on to the grass he was lying on. Presently, her companions joined her, and the herd grazed calmly in the gathering dusk. With virtually no predators on their island home, they had become fairly bold, and many had never seen a human before. This one was not moving, and he seemed quite unable to do anything to hurt them. They did not sense that they had anything to fear, and so the night fell, cool and breezy, filled with quiet nickers and neighs... none loud enough to wake the sleeping human.

Jason slept on, unaware that he was in the company of wild horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia is serious stuff.


	6. Footprints and Hasty Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero explores island number two.

The next morning, Jason was woken by the soft trills of a songbird somewhere near his feet. His headache protested as he stumbled upright, shaking sand out of his hair, and stared blearily at the unfamiliar landscape. 

Once his brain managed to stir itself awake, he turned in a slow circle, examining his surroundings. The beach he was on was definitely not one from his earlier island, being a small cove surrounded by rocky cliffs. The only path up the cliffs was a narrow goat-track—or a horse-track; those hoofprints were not goat-made. A small stream plunged over the cliffs in a rail-thin fall, before flowing into the sea. By the water's edge, the wreckage of his crude raft lay, twisted in and out of itself. 

The world seemed strangely dark, and he looked up to see massive slate-gray cumulonimbi hovering low overhead, brushing the tumultuous ocean on the horizon and scraping against the jagged rocks that formed the toothy silhouettes of cliff tops. Compared to the other island of rich, fertile soil and palm groves, it was a bleak and barren place. 

It could support life, though, and something as large as horses at that, if the hoofprints were anything to go on.

Jason knelt by the stream and gulped down the cold water, trying to ignore the pounding ache in the back of his skull. A single hand tenderly probing the back of his head revealed a coating of congealed blood, and he stuck his head in the creek to wash it away. It helped with the pain some, but not quite enough.

He forced himself to his feet and began making his way up the rough trail, pausing halfway up to let the world stop spinning. When he reached the top, he simply let himself collapse on the grass and sleep.

He woke an hour later, and crawled to the creek to gulp down some of the frigid water. Pausing for a moment to admire the spray blossoming from the top of the thin, misty waterfall, he realized that the same dark clouds were still hovering overhead. 

As the first fat raindrops began to fall, he hurriedly glanced around for shelter. Spotting a rock outcropping poking sharply up from the grassy plain, he scrambled for it. Appearances were misleading, though, and the only shelter it provided was a rough overhang not nearly wide enough to keep him from getting drenched.

Soaked to the bone, shivering, scared and miserable, Jason curled up and tried to ignore the driving rain. For a time, he managed, but then the droplets turned to hail, stinging his skin painfully. He yelped and drew back as much as he could into the limited shelter of the rock, but there was nothing else he could do.

The next morning, he was covered in bruises and it hurt to move. His back was sore, and his head was _still_ hurting.

His luck sucked.

He was tempted to just lie there, to give up, to throw in the towel on the divine comedy his life had become (he was sure that somewhere, someone was watching this and laughing)—but no, he couldn't just give up. He'd thought about this already. Giving up would mean never getting home, never seeing his family again, never seeing his friends again, never seeing Josh again, never skating again—dying right here, and rotting, under this lonely overhang with only the horses that he'd never even seen for company—they'd probably never find his body.

No... he couldn't give up. 

He dragged himself to the stream and drank some more water. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but the hunger was getting to him and there didn't appear to be any food readily available.

He sighed, stood up shakily, and began to walk away from the cliffs. There was nothing better to do.

Two hours later, he was sitting on a grassy ridge, staring down at the herd of horses grazing in the bowl-shaped valley below. They were small, shaggy ponies with patch winter hair giving way to the smoother summer coat. They milled together in a clump of bodies, shifting slowly as the calm adults found the best grass while the foals darted around, running on the energy of youth.

He leaned back against a rough-barked pine, lonely lightning-speared and half-fried on the ridge-top, a silhouette of a skeletal conifer. It was no longer alive, but it made a nice backrest, he thought, quite comfortable indeed. Then again, his standards of luxury had been skewed by a night on the cold ground and rocks—

_**SNAP.**_

_—darkness surrounded him. A cloth strip was stuffed in his mouth, dirty fibers feeling rough against his tongue. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw, and his shoulders were aching from being held in the same position for hours- days- however long it had been now._

_The floor moved under him, shaking slightly but not enough to worry him- not even enough to be audible over the faded roar of road noise. Straw covering the cold metal poked him from all angles, tickling his nose and making him sneeze. The faint light seeping through the slits in the trailer's side only barely illuminated the_ _interior, and the picture it painted for him was so bleak he almost wished he couldn't see now at all._

_Suddenly, the vehicle took a sharp left, hurtling off the highway onto a rough, bumpy road, and he was flung through the air. His head slammed into the side of the trailer and everything went black—_

**_SNUP._ ** _  
_

—he jerked forward , away from the tree, and ended up face first in the grass. _What the hell?!_ he thought as he scrambled to right himself. _What was that?_

His head ached as if it had just slammed into the sheet metal side of a trailer.

He closed his eyes and summoned up the images of what he'd just seen. Bound, gagged, in the back of a trailer—it didn't make sense. His face screwed up in concentration as he tried to identify where the vision had come from. 

There was something in the back of his mind—a glass wall—a mirror—he found it and then slid sideways away, like he couldn't stay focused on it. it was like something had been put in an invisibility cloak; you bump into it, you know it's there, but you just can't see it. He concentrated on the wall, moving forward just right... closer... one quick **strike**!

The wall inside his head shattered, and he had a brief moment to feel triumphant before the barrage of memories swamped him. Then he had to sink his teeth into his clenched fist to keep himself from screaming. There was too much, too much in his skull, pressing on his temples, oh god it hurt it hurt it hurt... 

Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the pressure subsided, and Jason was left curled up in a ball on the grass, drenched in sweat and trying to catch his breath.

Once he was breathing normally again, he stood, wobbling slightly, and turned his attention to the horses below. They gave no indication that they had noticed any of the mental drama going on above them on the ridge. 

Then suddenly he stopped.

There was a horse that didn't make sense. 

Tall, long-legged, dainty—even he could tell that the coal-black filly didn't belong. She was a tuxedo among t-shirts, a filet mignon beside hot dogs, a Swiss watch next to cheap China-made imitations. She looked like she'd be at home at Churchill Downs, draped with roses after carrying her colors to fame and glory.

In other words, she was out of place. But that wasn't what made Jason's heart stop—and then beat double time.

Next to the filly—leaning on her, even—was a familiar head of brown hair that he'd thought he'd never see again.

Jason stood stock still for a moment, and then his limbs unfroze and he hurtled down the ridge, one name torn from his throat and whisked away on the wild wind.

"JOSH!"

And then a well-known pair of blue eyes was focusing on him, and his name was springing from a mouth he knew just as well as his own. And the horses were scattering as the two boys sprinted toward each other and then toppled to the ground in a tangle of laughter and smiles and tears and joy that eventually turned to making out and then back to laughter. Jason's voice felt hoarse (he hadn't really spoken much in the past months) but he didn't care; there were other things to think about now. 

Eventually, a curious dark muzzle interrupted with a snort. Jason giggled at the feeling of whiskers on his back, and Josh dragged him upright to come meet the horses. The ache in the back of his skull was gone, or at least not noticeable. He was no longer alone; more importantly, he was with Josh.

As they walked back to the cave that Josh had actually decorated very well, the other boy whispered all kinds of naughty ideas in Jason's ear. He was wholeheartedly behind them; they had a lot of time to make up for.

And now, in the midst of all the turmoil the last two months had been, something was finally right.


	7. Wake Me if You're Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero unearths some disturbing memories and secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hurt me. It's necessary for the narrative, though, so I forced myself through it.
> 
> On a lighter note, today's the solstice! Longest day of the year! (Let's spend it all writing.)

_He was strapped to a table, metal cold beneath his skin. The cuffs, reinforced straps to keep him secured, cut deep into his wrists and ankles as he tried to fight, to tear them off, but it was no use. They didn't bother to leave a guard—between the cameras, the cuffs, and the electrical collar, they knew he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't even yank the IV in his arm loose._

_He tried to shut his eyes, to block out the white lights on the ceiling that glared down, eon after eon, attempting to burn holes in his skin. However, there was no way to shut his ears against the steady beeping of the machines he was hooked to, or the screech of protesting metal whenever the door swung open, or the cold clinical voices that issued from behind the scientists' masks, referring to him as a subject, a test, or—most chillingly—Generation Three._

_Suddenly, his ears were assaulted by the awful protestations of the hinges on the double doors that led to the rest of the lab, away from this stifling chamber he was trapped in, out to a world he'd one called home. Sometimes, when he lay there, half awake, he could imagine himself rising from this living tomb to go out into the world once more, to see the stars and feel the rain caress his skin and smell the scent of snow and ice on a crisp winter breeze, and it almost felt that he could just stand and walk right out… but when he tried, the cuffs bit deep into his skin and he was left there to whimper while a beautiful golden sunrise shone on a land he could no longer see, a society he was no longer a part of, and the doors, those great, rusty-hinged doors, closed once again._

_The doors did not bring freedom. The only thing they brought were more doctors and scientists who prodded and measured and sampled, snipping off small strands of hair, scraps of skin that stung like hell, poking him with needles that delivered a series of drugs and who-knows-what. Occasionally, the needles_ _brought him the freedoms of sleep and pain relief, and occasionally they let him drift out of his body and curl away through the ceiling until he was floating amidst the clouds without a care in the world. More often, though, the needles only made him hurt, bone deep aches and pains that refused to go away._

_Or maybe that was just his mind.  
_

_Now, as the doors swung open, he twisted his neck and caught a glimpse of the two scientists who seemed to be in charge of the whole thing. They were discussing how everything had gone smoothly, and he was now ready for the final treatment. He was just so tired that he couldn't focus on their words, though, and the haze of pain that wrapped him up in a thorny blanket wasn't helping at all._

_He didn't even notice the syringe descending toward his chest like a stooping eagle until it was too late. Ice crept along his veins, freezing him in place, keeping him from moving. Then, in the time it took for a hummingbird's wings to beat once, the ice flashed to flame, and his jaws gaped open in a soundless scream as his body burned, dust to ashes, from the inside out._

_—_

Jason jerked awake, gasping as the phantom pain vanished and his eyes sprang open. For a moment, the darkness around him kept his brain wheeling, disoriented, but then the hands on his shoulders registered with his brain and Josh's voice penetrated through the clinging scraps of sleep. 

"Jason! Jase, you okay?"

"Yeah," he gasped, trying to control his galloping heart. "Yeah, just a nightmare..." his voice trailed off as the dream-memory of helplessness, lying there bound to the table, returned, and the horror that washed through him was such that he buried his face in Josh's shoulder and sobbed. The other boy held him, whispering wordless comforts and wondering what the dream was about.

When Jason was no longer shaking, and the panicked sobs had quieted, Josh asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

Jason hesitated, and then nodded, because he needed to. He needed to get the dream away from him, shove it off his skin, and the only way he could think of doing that right now was with words, with sharing, with a story told.

By the time he was done, Josh's face had gone from worried to horrified and back again. "Jason..." he starts, "I..."

"But it was only a dream." Jason shook his head. "I'm okay now."

"Jason..." Josh said again. "Jase, what if it wasn't a dream?"

Jason's eyebrows attempted to invert themselves in shock. "What do you mean?" he asked, sharper than he'd intended.

Josh sighed. "This island... well, before I got here, I was in a place like that. It was like a huge research station, but it was on a boat, and they kept us in these, like, cages, except when they were doing... experiments."

"... Oh god," Jason whispered hysterically. "Oh god it was real... it was all real..." He suddenly stumbled to his feet, hurried outside, and then retched until his stomach was empty. 

Josh's hands were on his shoulders, trying to ground him and hold him steady, but it wasn't helping; the nausea receded, but the awful images pent up behind his eyelids refused to go away. He could feel the muscles in his arms twitching randomly, and his skin felt like a thousand tiny pins were poking at it.

It wasn't a conscious decision; one moment he was there, trembling and shaking, and the next he was watching from the back of his mind as his body acted on instinct and sprinted away. He could hear Josh behind him, but it was through a filter, and the words, the panicked yells to stop running, _please_... but they faded away into the air and now Jason was panicking too, because he couldn't stop and his muscles weren't listening to his commands.

The ground slanted beneath him and he lost his footing, tumbling down a long slope from the high meadows into a pine forest. At the bottom of the hill, he finally came to a halt. He ached all over, but he was in control of his body again.

He tried to get up, and managed to make it to his knees before his legs seized up and he fell forward once more. The same ice he remembered from the dream was creeping along his veins and arteries once again, and now his skin felt like a straitjacket. 

As before, the ice flashed to fire, and he screamed without really hearing it. Somewhere to his left, up the hill, a voice answered, and then Josh appeared again. "Jason!" he yelled frantically, leaping down the hill to skid to a halt beside Jason and moving to kneel, and then backing up, unsure of what he was seeing.

"Jase...?" Josh asked uncertainly. "What's happening?" 

There was no way to answer him, and Jason screamed again as his bones grated and he burned from the inside out...

And then it was all over.

For a moment, neither moved. Then the wolf that had been Jason whirled and sprinted into the forest, hind legs moving powerfully, tail streaming out behind him. He ran until he dropped, fleeing from the cloying, clinging scent of humans clogging his nostrils. When he finally stopped, he slept and dreamed, but the memories made no sense to the wolf.

Eventually, the dreams changed to those of a wild moon and a pack, and he was at peace.

*******

Shadowshine shifted and stamped a foot impatiently. Around her, the other horses were calmly grazing, but she ignored them. It was almost noon, almost time, and she was getting impatient.

When her boy appeared at the edge of the valley, she snorted. _About time_. The strange boy wasn't there, though, and that disturbed her, as she'd seen how much her boy cared for him.

Her boy stumbled through the grass and drew to a halt beside her, wrapping his arms around her neck. "Okay, girl," he murmured into her satin coat with a voice that trembled with unspent worry, "I'm gonna need your help here, 'kay?"

She did not understand the noises he made, but she did know that it was time to fly. Two huge, feathery wings unfolded from her back, and her boy managed to smile and clambered onto her.

Then they took off, swooping low to scan the ground, darting and diving along the cliffs, and soaring high away into the noontime sun.


End file.
